


Let Me Be The One That Got Away

by OrianDCate



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 10, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Post-Episode: s09e07-08 The Zygon Invasion/The Zygon Inversion, Post-Episode: s09e08 The Zygon Inversion, Post-Season/Series 09, Pre-Season/Series 10, Season/Series 10, St. Luke's University (Doctor Who), The Vault (Doctor Who), This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Time Travel, Torchwood References, UNIT, i am dragging you down into hell with me on board the flying dutchman that is this ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrianDCate/pseuds/OrianDCate
Summary: They resurrected the Master; they resurrected Rassilon. Did you really think they'd stop there?An alternate world where the Rani was brought back for the Time War as well, got out, and is now living in downtown London as UNIT's Scientific Advisor, all the while attempting to locate the Doctor and deliver Missy's confession dial.Right kids, this is where it gets complicated.
Relationships: Ashildr | Lady Me & Jack Harkness, Ashildr | Lady Me/Jack Harkness, Kate Lethbridge-Stewart/The Rani
Kudos: 12





	1. Johnny's In The Basement, Mixing Up The Medicine

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

_“Grave digger, grave digger, bring me to my knees._

_Forget what I have done, forgive me if you please._

_Save me if you can, the time for me has come,_

_Let me be the one that got away.”_

_\- “Grave Digger”, Blues Saraceno_

1) JOHNNY’S IN THE BASEMENT, MIXING UP THE MEDICINE

The man that stepped out the box was extraordinary in every sense of the word.

Not very many people wore a full three piece suit anymore, much less one with a mismatched black vest when everything else was gray. In place of a tie, he wore instead a shemagh, in the same color palette as the rest of his clothing. It wouldn’t have looked out of place on a soldier in the wilds of Afghanistan; on a businessman in the middle of Westminster? It stuck out like a sore thumb. A black newsboy cap, long black duster, and silver watch chain completed the ensemble.

If you were to ask those fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of him, they would have told you he exuded the air of a predator. As if he were used to being the most dangerous thing in the room, despite his unarmed appearance. In fact, those with a particular focus of knowledge would have noted he was not dissimilar to a character from a certain Assassin’s Creed game, albeit minus the top-hat.

The man stood there for no more than thirty seconds, examining the restaurant and flat directly across the road from him. He then nodded, stepped back into the box, and promptly disappeared.

Both he and the box returned less than a minute later; albeit with a very different attitude. The man strode purposefully across the street and directly into the establishment, whereupon he proceeded to order most of the menu at once. He took a seat in a corner booth, one with a view of all possible exits,; and then to all outward appearances, settled down to wait.

Anyone else would have assumed he was merely waiting for the absolutely tremendous order he’d just placed; but not her. She’d made her living noticing things other people didn’t; and this time was no different.

She was expected.

And frankly, she didn’t know how to feel about that.

* * *

She slid into the seat on the opposite side of the booth. She was hoping for some sort of reaction; anything at all. A joke, an insult, hell, she would’ve taken a murder threat. Instead, she got nothing.

Not good.

It was when the Doctor got quiet that he truly became terrifying.

Clara wasn’t with him; and whatever they’d gone through since she’d last seen them, it was apparently enough to warrant a regeneration. If he had lost Miss Oswald at the same time…

“I’m not him, you know.”

“…What?”

“I’m not the Doctor. That box out there is a TARDIS, true enough. But the only reason it currently looks the way it does is because it was the best way to get your attention. Honestly, the whole point of a chameleon circuit is that you not be noticed; and what does that moron go and do? He keeps it on the same outdated setting, just because he’s afraid of forgetting where he parked.”

“…If you’re not the Doctor, then who are you?”

“A Time Lord, obviously. And don’t bother checking, I’m not one that UNIT’s ever had a run-in with.”

“How did you know I was UNIT?”

“Please. I said I wanted your attention, didn’t I? Who else did you think I could’ve meant? Trust me, Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, when I say I know _exactly_ who you are.”

“…Very well then. You said you wanted our attention: what for?”

“Your assistance concerning _this.”_

The man pulled a round, golden disc from what seemed thin air, and then dropped it on the table in front of her.

“A confession dial.”

“Ah, so you recognize it. Good. Saves time.”

“Is it yours?”

The man, well, Time Lord, scoffed. “Please. As if I’d trust mine to a human. No, _this_ particular dial belongs to, I believe, an old enemy of yours. And an old friend of the Doctor’s.”

She was beginning to see now. “…And I suppose the Doctor is the one you’re supposed to deliver it to?”

“You’re pretty fast, for a human. Yes.”

“…It’s the Master’s, isn’t it?”

“Once again, you are correct. Although I believe she prefers Missy now.”

“Why would she trust _you_ with it?”

“Oh my dear, Missy has never, and never will, trust me. And the opposite holds true as well. It makes our relationship so much simpler than hers and the Doctor’s. Their problem is that, inevitably, they _do_ end up trusting each other. With usually disastrous circumstances for everyone involved.”

“I can see why. So…you want my help delivering that dial. Which means you yourself have been unable to locate the Doctor. What make you think he’s on Earth?”

“The fact that I’ve tried ever other conceivable location first. A month, an entire _month,_ I spent in Stormcage. Not a sign of him. And as you can see,” the Time Lord gestured to the loaded table in front of him, “Prison food isn’t exactly the most filling. Before that it was Starship UK, the Eye of Orion, Karn, Skaro, Trenzalore…you get the picture.”

“Not Gallifrey?”

“You _really_ don’t know the Doctor as well as I thought if you believe for a minute that he would ever go back _there_ willingly. Suffice to say that I have exhausted every other avenue of research…except for here. Look,” he leaned forward and folded his hands underneath his chin, “I’m going to be perfectly honest: Earth and I…hold no love for each other; I haven’t been here for centuries. Not since that little Polish chap offered to cut me in for some of the profit if he published some of my excursions under the guise of fiction. Believe me when I say I have searched everywhere else possible, twice, just to avoid this meeting here today.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”

“You’re quite unwelcome. To put it bluntly, I intend to comb this entire planet for that insufferable man, and it is quite possible that I shall step on more than a few toes in the process. To that end, I would prefer to have at least some legality and/or authority backing me up should it become necessary. I believe you have employed the Doctor as a Scientific Advisor in the past, yes?”

She did _not_ like where this was going. “…Yesssss....”

“Good. Since he’s technically AWOL at the moment, I would very much appreciate it if you could see your way clear to making me his replacement for the duration of his absence.”

“Why? Why should I go out of my way to make things easier for you?”

“Because for the duration of my stay, I plan to be based here in London. Specifically, in the flat above this particular restaurant. And I imagine your superiors wouldn’t be too thrilled about a Time Lord running around loose without any form of supervision.”

“You just told me where you’re going to be staying. I _think_ we can keep a fairly good eye on you.”

“Working chameleon arch, remember? And unlike the Doctor, I am perfectly capable of choosing outerwear that’s a little less distinctive.”

“You mean like what you’ve got on right now?”

“Catch your attention, remember? Would _you_ have believed it if the Doctor showed up dressed like a normal person?”

“…Touché. Wait, hang on…you said you rented a flat?”

“Not rented. Bought.”

“The flat above us. The flat sitting directly above us. That flat.”

“Is there an echo in here? _Yes.”_

“You _bought_ 221B Baker Street? Impossible.”

“I’m afraid that word has very little meaning to a Time Lord, Director.”

“How? How on Earth are you planning on paying what I’m sure is an exorbitant amount, just to stay in the same flat as Sherlock Holmes?”

“Little Polish chap, remember? It’s amazing what compound interest can do for you. Would have forgotten about it entirely, if I hadn’t passed through the Restaurant at the End of the Universe during my search. Suffice to say, I will be able to stay at dear old 221B practically indefinitely. As if an unknown Time Lord wasn’t enough, your superiors are, if you’ll pardon my language, going to lose their shit when they find out an alien is in possession of a national monument. How’s my offer sounding to you now?”

Really, what else was there for her to do? “…Deal. You’re UNIT’s new official Scientific Advisor, at least until we can find the Doctor and hand over that dial. You’ll need to come by some time next week to get all the official documentation, but other than that, you’re free to come and go as you please.”

“Do I get paid?”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“Pay. Money. Cash. Muy dinero. Marks. Yen. Credits. Wupipi. Pounds. Dol…”

“Yes, yes, I get the point. And you’ll be more than handsomely-compensated. Provided you actually do what you say you’re going to do.”

The Time Lord dabbed at his mouth, and then stood. Somehow, he’d managed to clear the entire table in front of him. “I may be many things, Director. But a liar, I am not.”

He turned towards the door.

“Wait.”

“…Yes?”

“I’m afraid I’m gonna need a name. For the documentation.”

“A thousand apologies for failing to introduce myself. You may call me…the Rain Man.”

She snorted. “Rain Man?”

“Because sometimes, you _do_ need a weatherman to tell you where the wind blows. Pleasure doing business with you, Director.”

She could only watch as he strode out the door, duster swaying behind him.

With a groan, her head sank into her hands. What on Earth was she supposed to do now? A third known Time Lord, one whose last visit to Earth had apparently resulted in a popular series of fantasy novels, and who was now planning to go knocking about the entire planet looking for the _first_ known Time Lord, all on account of the _second_ one. As if her day couldn’t get any worse…

She’d hoped it was the Doctor; she’d really, _really,_ hoped. Insults, murder threats, even the deathly silence she’d been afraid of, she could have handled them all. In fact, if it had been the last, what she’d had to say to him might just have been enough to pull him out of whatever funk he’d gotten himself into.

Instead, what she’d gotten was…

“You got here in four minutes thirty-six seconds.”

She glared up at him. “And what if I did?”

“ _Nobody_ gets anywhere on a moment’s notice in four minutes thirty-six seconds. Not even _I_ can do that. You were already looking, weren’t you? You were already looking for the Doctor. But instead, you found me. And now whatever crisis it was that drove you to the streets looking for a TARDIS in the first place has probably escalated quite a bit since then. Correct?”

…Oh, to hell with it. “Yes. Yes it probably has.”

“Describe the problem.”

“Awhile back, Earth took in some refugees from the destroyed Zygon home-world, with the understanding that they would come and go as normal people. No revelations of their alien origin.”

“And am I correct in assuming there is a sect of the Zygons who feel they should not have to hide?”

“There was. The Doctor took care of it. I’m afraid we’ve got a bigger problem now: the Silurians.”

“Ah yes, I remember them. Very intelligent, very scientific. Let me guess: few in number, but able to cause a good deal of damage should they so wish. And they’ve somehow managed to find out about the Zygons.”

“That about sums it up.”

“Hmm. Well, it would be rude of me to leave you to deal with this problem by myself, since I’m the one who traded the Zygon survivors their stasis cubes for global infiltration in the first place.”

“You _what?”_

“In my defense, I was trying very hard to escape the Time War at the time. And any good scientist hates to see the extinction of a species. They gave me a ride, I gave them survival. Bloody fair trade, in my opinion. But we’re getting off the subject. Seeing as how you are actually going to be paying me, perhaps it would be in my best interests to sort out this little problem before I get started on a long-term project.”

Hope springs eternal. “Do you think you can?”

“My dear, I think I would not be amiss in stating that while the Doctor may put the Advising in Scientific Advisor, I am the one who puts the Science. You can explain the details on the way.”

“…Oh, don’t tell me we’re taking your TARDIS.”

“I would be insulted, but seeing as how your only experiences have probably been at the hands of the two worst pilots Gallifrey has ever produced, I’m willing to let it slide. And yes, we are taking my TARDIS. After you, Director.”

Her very first TARDIS ride.

She should have been ecstatic.

So why did she suddenly feel very, very, nervous?


	2. I'm On The Pavement, Thinking Bout The Government

I own nothing. Least of all this.

2) I’M ON THE PAVEMENT, THINKING BOUT THE GOVERNMENT

So…this was a TARDIS.

Somehow, she’d been expecting something a bit more…quirky. More dazzling lights, dials and gauges, round things and so forth. Instead, what she’d gotten was apparently a futuristic operating room. Everything was blindingly white, except for the see-though screens set up around the console, which was itself the only place with any splash of color in the entire room. If someone had told her she’d just set foot onto the bridge of the Starship Enterprise, she would’ve believed them. Everything was just so…cold. Clinical. _Calculating._

If TARDIS’s were truly alive as the Doctor claimed, then this one was obviously just as much of a sociopath as its owner.

Speaking of…

“Would it be to our advantage if I were to continue pretending to be the Doctor?”

“Perhaps. Why do you ask?”

“If we were to do so, I would need to keep the chameleon circuit on its current setting for awhile longer. If the Doctor were to arrive in anything other than a police call box, it might raise suspicions.”

“…True enough. I’m tempted to say yes, seeing as how the faction of Zygons involved is led by an old friend of the Doctor’s. It would certainly make it easier for her to trust us. However, considering the Doctors’ history with the Silurians, it would perhaps be better if we kept up the appearance of neutrality. No known association with either side; well, beyond UNIT being the ones that negotiated the Zygon peace treaty in the first place.”

“A logical conclusion. Perhaps this will go more smoothly than I had originally thought.”

“You’re not going to change?”

“Why, would you like to watch?”

She jerked backwards in surprise. “Dear Lord, no. But if you showed up in that particular outfit, they just might mistake you for the Doctor anyway, despite your intentions otherwise.”

“Hmm. A fair point. But something tells me time is of the essence here; so I’m afraid I shall have to postpone. I believe I asked you to explain on the way; I may be able to enter the Time Vortex without a destination, but I’d rather prefer to have one anyway.”

“Chelsea. Apartment complex that’s under construction. The Zygons claimed it without our knowledge, but in the end we let them keep it. It seems that was a mistake, since in their excavations they managed to unearth an entire Silurian colony.”

The Rain Man hummed once more. “Odd. Such an occurrence should have been unlikely in the extreme, considering the population densities of the two respective species. I wonder…”

His fingers flew across a console keyboard that apparently only he could see. His actions were matched by large, rolling streams of numbers that began to flow down the transparent screens in front of him.

“What is it?”

“Not sure yet. It seems as though…yes…yes…hmm. Not good.”

When a Time Lord said something wasn’t good, usually they meant it was in fact catastrophically bad. “What’s wrong?”

“According to these files…the construction company responsible for the specified complex is owned by a shell corporation. One that is apparently infamous for its…underworld…connections.”

“…You’re not saying…”

“That the reason these apartments had such excellent underground excavations seemingly custom-made for your Zygons was because the Silurians were in fact the ones paying for them? Why yes, yes I am.”

Brilliant.

Just bloody brilliant. “So UNIT basically just up and gave away something that didn’t belong to them just to keep one particular species happy, and in doing so pissed off the species that said thing originally belonged to. As if the situation weren’t complicated enough already.”

“Better it get complicated now than later, Director. Imagine how things would have gone if we had discovered this information just a little too late. Fortunately, the problem itself has now presented us with a solution. Perhaps a slightly expensive one, but a solution nonetheless.”

“Oh? Don’t suppose you’d mind sharing with the rest of the class?”

“Normally, no. Like all Time Lords, I must admit a certain fondness for proving my superior intelligence at every possible opportunity. But I’ve always been a scientist first: and in this particular instance, I’m truly curious to see how long it would have taken a group of humans to arrive at the same conclusion I did. Let’s call it…a social experiment. Albeit one without much in the way of consequences should things go wrong, considering the control group (myself) already has a plan in place. Here.”

A pair of what appeared to be green-tinted sunglasses came flying straight at her face. She just barely managed to catch them before they hit. “What are these?”

“Silurians are more than capable of total invisibility should they so choose. It would be wise for both of us to be as well-informed as the other on how many potential hostiles we’re surrounded by.”

“…Agreed. No glasses for yourself, though?”

“My specialty is biology. I gene-spliced myself for night-vision quite a long time ago, I’m afraid. Invisibility is quite overrated; you can’t hide smells half as easily. Still working on upgrading my own olfactory system. But until then, the vision changes will have to do. We’re here.”

“It didn’t make the noise.”

“It’s not supposed to make that noise; the Doctor leaves the brakes on. One of these days they’re going to wear straight through and leave him hurtling through the Vortex for eternity. Or accelerate him straight into a black hole; still not sure which one seems more probable considering his luck. After you, Director.”

* * *

“Seriously? That was your big solution? Have UNIT pay to expand the current excavations and set up a cultural and information for all parties concerned?”

“It worked, didn’t it? What were you expecting? Flying blaster bolts and maybe the odd explosion? Or perhaps an emboldened and impassioned speech about the inherent equal value of all races?”

“I…”

“I will say it again, Director. I am not the Doctor; I am not the Master. And I am more than well-acquainted with how diplomatic negotiations are normally conducted during peacetime. The fact that multiple species were involved at the same time should have made absolutely no difference whatsoever. I would have expected better from UNIT, considering how find your father was of saying science leads.”

She had failed.

She should have seen it; should have been looking for a peaceful solution all along. Instead, she’d done exactly the same thing she’d done in the depths of the Black Archive: immediately start looking for a way to get leverage over both sides.

And it had almost cost them the entirety of London.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry; sorry’s never gotten anyone anywhere. Well, except for the Tivoli. Instead, be better. Now, because I’m trying my best not to ruffle any more feathers than I already have, I’m going to drop you back off at Speedy’s just around ten seconds after we left. Your men should still be waiting there for you; feel free to make any excuses you like. Just make sure you get me the official story before anyone asks me to corroborate any of it.”

“…Very well. And…thank you. Things could have gone…very badly today.”

“Well naturally. It is a Thursday, after all. For some peculiar reason I have yet to quantify, more disastrous circumstances seem to occur on Thursdays than any other day. I believe the Doctor is fond of calling it the Arthur Dent Effect. And as much as I prefer the Doctor to take care of such occurences, using a world-ending event to entice him out of hiding isn’t exactly my cup of tea. Suffice it to say UNIT is more than welcome for the assistance. Ah; we’ve arrived. And with a whole second to spare. Excellent. Oh, you might want to fix the time on your watch before you leave. Your phone should have automatically updated to display it correctly.”

She did so. “Don’t want anyone noticing how far we actually traveled?”

“No, I’m just well-aware of how frustrating it can be for an alarm to go off a few hours early. And I observed that you have no less than three set at the moment, two of which would have prevented you from getting a good night’s rest.”

“…I can’t tell if you’re pointing that out just to sound more like Sherlock Holmes, or because you actual care.”

“Why can’t it be both? Efficiency is the name of the game, Director. And nothing is more important than sleep for operating at peak condition. Have a good day, Director. See you soon.”

The door closed softly behind her; not at all how the Doctor’s doors sounded. She turned around, just to make sure the Rain Man had indeed set his TARDIS’ appearance back to phone box. Wouldn’t have been good for her subordinates to see her return in something totally different than what she left in.

Nope; big and blue, just as it should have been. No matter the Rain Man’s opinion on the matter, there was only one acceptable size and color for a TARDIS.

A whoosh of displaced air, and it was gone again. Where, she could only guess. But he’d be back. She knew he would.

At least, she hoped he would.

If for no other reason than it would be damned difficult to explain things if he weren’t.

* * *

Oh no.

No, no no no no no no, no no no no no.

No.

He didn't.

He did _not._

The sign still hung there, in direct contradiction to her denials.

_Mr. Ian Thane, Consulting Xenobiologist._

Fine.

If he wanted to play that way, then fine. She’d just have to treat him how he apparently wanted to be treated: a high-functioning sociopath in dire need of a moral compass.

She held her head high, and banged her hand on the door as hard as she could.

“No, no, not now, I’ve got a program running on...oh, it’s you.”

She did her best not to be insulted. But some sarcasm still managed to slip into her tone. “Mr. Ian Thane? Really?”

“So I have a flair for the ironic, anagrams included. Sue me. You might as well come on in; I’ve got some delicate calculations running at the moment, and I really can’t afford to take my eyes off them. Feel free to explain the reason for your visit while I work.”

She followed him into the flat…and stopped dead in her tracks. “This isn’t 221B.”

“No, no it isn’t. It is, however, my TARDIS’ best approximation of the original environment described by the good Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, with a few modern upgrades.”

“You parked your TARDIS. In quite possibly the most famous address in existence. _And hooked up the two front doors to each other?”_

“Saves time. And if I have to go out for something, this way I won’t leave behind any potentially dangerous items when I do.”

“…You really are going all out with this act, aren’t you.”

“Like I said, a flair for irony. In fact, I once went so far as to gene-splice a rat to truly enormous size, just to get rid of a certain Lord President’s cat that seemed hell-bent on destroying my experiments and getting away with it because of diplomatic immunity. This is merely the latest in a long line of such dramatics on my part. Now; explain.”

She did her best to ignore the screens around the room that were all flashing very alien characters in various sizes and colors. “The official story for the Zygon-Silurian Incident. After the last time, the Doctor left a way to contact him in case of another case arising. He himself was unable to come, so he dropped off another Time Lord as equally qualified as himself to deal with the situation. He was also planning to be out of contact for quite some time, so we both managed to persuade his fellow Time Lord to remain until communications resumed. Said Time Lord was unanimously approved to serve as the Doctor’s replacement for the interim, considering how well he dealt with yesterday’s problem. Congratulations; the Rain Man is now officially listed as Chief Scientific Advisor of UNIT. Which begs the question: if you’ve gotten everything you wanted, why on Earth would you come up with yet another identity for yourself?”

“One, in case I needed to pass as a human. Rain Man isn’t exactly the most inconspicuous of names. Two, I needed a way to access unofficial channels as well as official; you should be well-acquainted with how admirably the Baker Street Irregulars preformed in the past. And thirdly, well…let’s just consider this another experiment. Mycroft Holmes and Hercule Poirot both boasted at one point that they could solve a case without ever leaving their current location; I’m curious to see how many a Time Lord can manage in a row under the same constraints.”

_DING!_

“…Right after this one, of course.”

“Which one _is_ this one, precisely?”

“A Trap Street. Think of it as a giant Perception Filter, but stretched to cover an entire alley and all the beings in it. London phone lines can be the devil to tap, but in the end, I managed to unearth a recent conversation between the Doctor and one of his companions that gave me the lead I needed. The calculation I was just preforming was one to determine the Street’s most likely location; not an easy thing when the numbers themselves don’t want you to find it.”

“But did you?”

“Of course. Care to come along? I imagine UNIT would be most intrigued to find out just how many aliens have been living in downtown London under their very nose.”

“…Yes. Yes, I dare say they would.”

“Right then. Close the door, and we can be off.”

CLICK.

“Excellent. Oh, and you might want to put those glasses back on that I left you.”

“I just thought you’d forgotten them.”

“Nonsense; I never forget anything. Can’t very well deny my nominal employer any advantage that I myself naturally have.”

She didn’t miss the fact that he left out any mention of unnatural advantages.

“Right then; Trap Street, here we come.”


	3. Man In A Trench Coat, Badge Out, Laid Off

I own nothing. Least of all this.

3) MAN IN A TRENCH COAT, BADGE OUT, LAID OFF  


Now _this_ was the sort of rough landing she would’ve expected from the Doctor’s flying.

“It seems…whoever…is…down there…has even…less…reason…to want…TARDISes…landing…than…the Black…Archive!”

She could only glare at him while hanging on to the control console for dear life. “You think?”

He staggered back and forth, punching keys on what looked like an absolutely massive modern computer while octarine lights flashed on the screen. “Not...to worry…I have it…all…under…control!”

DOOM.

“…We’ve landed.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really, Director? Combining puns and sarcasm all in the space of just three words? I’m impressed.”

“Oh just shut up and check to see if we’re in the right place.”

He pulled his vest back down to its’ original position and straightened the collar of his duster. “No need. I can tell from here: the TARDIS is parked in a space that she very much disbelieves in. Nonexistence and bistro-mathics have always given TARDISes a hard time; and I’m afraid this particular model is even snootier than my usual transportation.”

Was it just her, but did the room somehow seem to go even colder after his declaration?

“Suffice to say we’re exactly where we should be; or rather, shouldn’t. You are armed, correct?”

She slowly nodded.

“Good. You’ll be glad to know I in no way, shape, or form, agree with the Doctor’s feeling on the subject of self-defense. That you’ve managed to deal with him this long without succumbing to his vociferous opinions on the subject is a point in your favor.”

“What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“I was under the impression that you yourself were unarmed.”

“My dear Director, a Time Lord is never unarmed.”

He strode purposefully towards the door, only to pause just before the exit. “Not to be unchivalrous, but I think that perhaps it would be for the best if I went first this time. I’m fairly certain I can survive being shot or similarly wounded a good deal better than you could.”

“Probably. By all means, go ahead.”

He nodded, and continued on his way out the door.

Funny; from the back, he really did kind of look like Sherlock Holmes. At least in that outfit, anyway. She briefly wondered what he’d look like in something different…oh, say, a tuxedo.

“Coming, Director?”

She sighed, and followed. Something told her she should have been used to Time Lords ordering her around by now; something else told her she may just never get used to it.

* * *

She emerged to find one…two, three, four…seven rifles all pointed her direction.

An everyday occurrence for someone in her position.

What was, however, not an everyday occurrence was just who, or rather, what, was hiding behind the perception filters overlaying said rifles.

Judoon, Cybermen, Sontarans…bloody hell, was that a Dalek?

Never before had she so completely understood the expression “ignorance is bliss”. Perhaps she’d have been better off leaving the glasses behind.

The being apparently in charge of all the weapons aimed directly at her heart was, to all appearances, human. Not good. Any human capable of bringing such bloodthirsty aliens together under one banner was bound to be one of the most dangerous people in existence. Although, now that she thought about it, it was odd that some species had more representatives present than others. If it was truly an alliance, they would have insisted on equal numbers for any party assigned to the leader. Add on to that the fact that every single being present had what appeared to be varying degrees of battle damage on their equipment…

“This is a refugee camp, isn’t it?”

The Rain Man nodded. “Very good, Director. That was my deduction as well. And the reason a human ended up in charge is quite simple: they were probably the one who knew best how to hide such an encampment from other humans.”

“ _They_ can hear you, you know.” The leader stepped forward. “And this is indeed a refugee camp. Which means I will not hesitate to cut you down where you stand should you mean harm to anyone here.”

“I would expect no less from someone clever enough to keep a Trap Street hidden this long. Allow us to introduce ourselves: as you might have inferred from the TARDIS behind us, I am a Time Lord. The Rain Man, to be precise. And the lovely lady to my left is Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, Director of UNIT. I don’t suppose anyone here might be willing to tell us if they’ve seen another Time Lord and his companion recently? Calls himself the Doctor; hideous taste in clothes, very dangerous when provoked.”

Well _that_ certainly got a reaction. Everyone aside from the Rain Man bristled; somehow, _he_ still managed to look about as calm as a slug on a particularly slow day. The female leader clutched at…something…around her neck. Odd; not even the glasses could see exactly what it was.

“What is your business with the Doctor?”

“…Let’s just say I have a package to deliver to him and leave it at that.”

“What sort of package?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say. Not my secret to tell.”

“Then this Street will not be one for you to keep. Take them and wipe their memories.”

She ducked to try and avoid the inevitable stun blasts headed her way…only to hear them impacting something in front of her. She looked up just in time to notice the last of the rays strike…some sort of shield, emanating outwards from the TARDIS to surround them.

The Rain Man tsked. “Really? You expect that to work on me? I can assure you, I have survived far worse threats and attacks, even from the deadliest species I see in front of me. Just what were you planning on doing once that particular gambit failed?”

The leader shrugged. “Truth be told, I was just making sure you were what you said you were. Teleportation is an easily replicated feat; and any old bloke in a suit can steal an old police box and claim to be a Time Lord. But the shielding? Impossible to fit it in something that small while still leaving room for occupants.”

“…Oh, you’re _good._ Are you sure we haven’t met before? I’m fairly certain I just heard myself talking in someone else’s voice just now.”

“Ego, much?”

He shrugged. “I’m a Time Lord. It’s in the name.”

“True. And it’s quite possible. Don’t suppose you’ve passed through anytime recently?”

“Not since the sixteen hundreds, I believe. Poland?”

“Yes, actually. Vampires?”

“ _Invisible_ vampires.”

“Yep, it’s you. No one else could have possibly guessed that. Although, if I’m remembering correctly, you were a woman back then. Why didn’t you tell me you were a Time Lord?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were for-all-intents-and-purposes immortal?”

“…Touché. I guess that little author friend of yours got more than he bargained for.”

“Yes, I guess he did.”

She couldn’t stand it anymore. “Excuse me, I don’t suppose there’s a chance anyone can tell me what the _hell_ is going on?”

The Rain Man turned. “Director Stewart, allow me to present the Lady Me, sometimes known as Ashildir. And apparently, the Mayor of Trap Street.”

The leader stuck her hand out. “Pleasure to meet you, Director. It’s about time; I was wondering when UNIT would get around to us.”

She gingerly shook the offered hand. “Oh?”

Me nodded. “Yep; I’ve lost count of the Torchwood agents we’ve had come through at one time or another. All memory wiped, of course; those little blighters are certainly some of the most _proactive_ people I’ve ever met.”

“You don’t have to tell _me.”_

“No, no I don’t suppose I do. You really are just looking for the Doctor?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You’d better follow me, then. He passed through not long ago at all; and I think there’s perhaps some things I better explain before I tell you where he went.”

For some reason, following an apparently immortal woman down a magical alley while surrounded by aliens UNIT had likely fought at one point or another did not fill her with confidence.

* * *

“So let me get this straight: you lured a friend of a friend of the Doctor’s down here, attached a _quantum shade_ to him, sent him back out in the hopes he’d call the Doctor and get _him_ to come looking, whereupon you would reveal the only way to unbind the shade was for the Doctor to trade his life for the acquaintance, and then once he made the trade you would send him on his way, all on the orders of someone _who’s true identity you didn’t know?”_

“More or less.”

“And you _didn’t_ think that somehow that just might blow up in your face?”

Me reclined behind her desk. “Of course I did. I made arrangements for every set of circumstances I could think of, up to and including total disaster. Every possible detail was accounted for…except, it seems, Miss Oswald’s self-sacrificing attitude.”

“Sooner or later, every companion of the Doctor’s ends up acting just as self-destructive as he does.”

“I shall remember that for next time.”

“Next time? Oh, no. No, no, no, no. There will be no next time. You aren’t the only one responsible for this Street now; UNIT has just as much interest in keeping this place quiet as you do. Isn’t that right, Director?”

She started. Up until then she’d hadn’t been all that involved in the discussion; she’d sunken into shock after hearing of Clara’s fate. She’d always seemed so…indestructible. And now…just another set of revoked privileges for the Black Archive. “…Yes, yes of course. I completely agree.”

“…You weren’t listening, were you.”

She let out a sigh. “No, I’m afraid not. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry; be better. And because you missed it, I repeat once more: UNIT will take be taking care of threats from the outside now. No more memory wiping random people that wander in, or Torchwood agents that _barge_ in. Pass them over to us, and we’ll handle it. And absolutely no more deals made with unknown individuals just on the off chance it might actually save the people you’re responsible for. That’s the Doctor’s specialty; it shouldn’t be yours. Am I understood?”

“Perfectly. I just fail to see how you’re planning on guaranteeing UNIT’s involvement when you could be on the opposite side of the galaxy by tomorrow.”

“Operative word being could. Until the Doctor returns, I plan on remaining here in London. And I am going to be keeping a _very_ close eye on things from now on. If you have any trouble…”

He gave a flick of his wrist, a business card appearing between his fingers. “…Look me up. The name is Mr. Ian Thane, and the address is 221B Baker Street.”

Me stared in disbelief at them both. “…You didn’t.”

Kate nodded. “I’m rather afraid he did. At least you’re not going to be forgetting where he lives anytime soon.”

“I should say not.” Me reached out and took the card. “And before you send any more potential denizens my way, please do me the courtesy of actually letting me know ahead of time. People get jumpy when an unexpected TARDIS just appears in the middle of the Street.”

“I wonder why. There’s a new Zygon-Silurian cultural exchange being built in Chelsea, if you care to drop in on your down time.”

“Oh yes, I heard something about that. That was you?”

“Mostly. Farewell, Lady Me. Let us hope our meetings in the future continue to be devoid of invisible vampires.”

“Yes, lets. Good day to you both. Oh, and one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“I am curious: the Doctor…he said the name of a Time Lord, the name you take…its like a promise you make. What’s yours?”

“…Be the one to tell people which way the wind is really blowing. I made the mistake of keeping my mouth shut once; it didn’t end well, for any involved.”

“Even yourself?”

“Even myself. Take care, Me.”

“I always do, Rain Man. I always do.”

* * *

“…Oh Lord.”

The Rain Man jerked. “What? What is it?”

“I just realized. Clara…the Doctor’s companion…technically, she was on UNIT’s payroll. Which means…I’m gonna have to be the one to tell her family what happened.”

“Parents?”

“And a grandmother, if I remember correctly. Not to mention the kids she used to nanny for. They knew the whole thing…oh Lord. How horrible is that? I can tell more of the truth to a pair of _kids_ than I can tell her actual flesh and blood.”

“Good. I’d be worried if it was the other way around.”

She stared. “How can you stand there and _say_ that?”

“Easily. A grown-up who’s left questioning is better than one that can harbor a grudge over the truth. Whereas a child will always resent you for not telling them the entire truth.”

She opened her mouth to protest that sometimes, there were things children just shouldn’t have to know (for crying out loud her entire job revolved around keeping people from knowing things), but the Rain Man kept right on going.

“If you like, I can look into whether or not there are any ex-companions of the Doctor’s still around they can talk to. To help them…process.”

The sudden switch from cold logic to warm empathy threw her for a loop. “…I believe Sarah Jane Smith might be willing to help. And if not her, maybe Jo Grant or Wilfred Mott.”

“Ah yes, the good Miss Smith. I’ve heard many good things about her second-hand. It would be a genuine pleasure to meet her face-to-face.”

“ _After_ she helps the kids.”

“Why not both at once?”

She just barely resisted the urge to slap him. “Because the children are more important!”

“I never said they weren’t. I am well-acquainted with how unresolved trauma can result in severe deficiencies down the line; I was merely suggesting we multi-task, so to speak.”

“Is that all they are to you? Trauma cases that need to be ‘resolved’?”

“Well, seeing as how I have yet to actually learn their names, much less actually meet them, I therefore cannot possibly have developed any sort of emotional attachment to them. So, yes. For the moment, they are merely potential sources of trouble that should be treated with care and handled with priority. Two areas I am quite willing to admit my own deficiencies in. That is why I came to you in the first place, Director. I would rather hand such problems off to you than be forced to struggle through and make a mess of things on my own.”

“…How is it you can manage to sound so empathetic, logical, self-effacing, egotistical, and _sad_ all at the same time?”

“Sad? I can assure you Director, I am the furthest one can get from sad.”

“Then why did your left eye start glistening the minute you mentioned treating children with care?”

The Rain Man whirled to face his reflection in the computer screen behind him. “…Well, that’s new. I used to be better about that…perhaps I just haven’t spent enough time in this body to work out all the kinks. I’ll just have to see what I can do about that.”

He turned back to face her, all trace of emotion wiped clean from his face. “As you can see, Director, it was merely an unconscious reaction. Emotions, while a weakness to someone such as I, can be a great strength to certain people. Such as the Doctor. Just because they are beyond my comprehension does not make them any less real. And as such, they should be treated with all the gravity of black holes.”

“…Did you just make a pun?”

“Indeed. I usually find humor an excellent way to segue into another topic of conversation. In this case, an inquiry. Around what time would you say would be the best for me to obtain my official UNIT papers from your office?”

“…They should be printed up by tomorrow morning. The building opens at nine; for heaven’s sake, don’t be early. You’ll give the security teams a heart attack.”

“One can only hope.”

“What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“Start scanning for the Doctor’s TARDIS. If he was forced to leave it behind, trust me when I say he’ll be back for it sooner or later. At the very least I can be prepared to track it when it takes off.”

“I _wondered_ why you didn’t attempt to trace the teleportation from Trap Street.”

“Oh, I did.”

“And? Where did it go?”

“…The one place I said the Doctor would never willingly go. Which also just so happens to be the one planet in the universe I am the least welcome on.”

“…Ah. The Lord President’s cat?”

“Among other reasons. Nine o’clock, then. And a Time Lord is never early, Director. Nor are they late. They always arrive precisely when they mean to. Or, in the Doctor’s case, when his TARDIS means to.”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

The Rain Man glanced at the screen once more. “…We’ve landed. Your car should still be waiting downstairs. If not, I’m sure I can see my way clear to give you a lift.”

“I think I can manage, thanks.”

She paused in the open doorway. “…So, you used to be a woman?”

“Yes. This is the first time I’ve had a male body in quite a while.”

“How do you know all the parts are in working order, then?”

“If I ever have any doubts, Director, I’ll make sure to come to you first for your professional opinion. Now shoo; I’ve got algorithms to write.”

Yes; yes, she just bet he did.


	4. Says He's Got A Bad Cough, Wants To Get It Paid Off

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

4) SAYS HE'S GOT A BAD COUGH, WANTS TO GET IT PAID OFF  


She really should have known better.

She really, really, should have.

At precisely 9:03 AM, Greenwich Time, her morning espresso was interrupted by Osgood nervously tapping on the door to her office. She herself was willing to admit her own hypocrisy in the matter; she’d always made a habit of leaving early for work. It wasn’t her fault the only decent coffeehouse anywhere nearby was absolutely swarming with people by seven in the morning, much less that London traffic dictated she spend absolutely the least amount of time possible between here and there. She’d only been late once or twice, but oh what a once or twice they had been. And so it was an accepted fact of life that Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, Director of UNIT, could always be found in her office by the time eight o’clock rolled around.

An hour should have been more than enough time to mentally prepare herself for dealing with the inevitable headaches Time Lords invariably brought with them. _More_ than enough.

It wasn’t.

“Kate, thank goodness, you’re actually here.”

“Why yes I am, thank you for noticing Osgood. And am I correct in deducing from your current demeanor that _he_ is here as well?”

“Well…you see, that’s just it ma’am. _He_ isn’t here…but something just appeared in the middle of one of the labs. Something that definitely wasn’t there a few minutes ago.”

She sighed. “And just what did this _something_ look like, Osgood?”

“…I think you better see for yourself, ma’am.”

Ah, the old ‘you need to see this’ cliché. And there was only one thing she could think of that would confuse Osgood enough to call in her colleague for help. Nominally, she may have been Osgood’s boss, but she’d always preferred to think of them as co-workers. Even when she was acutely aware the Osgood in front of her could very well be a Zygon, she just couldn’t bring herself to see things differently. And she was more than content for Osgood to reciprocate that attitude.

Which was why it was extremely odd for Osgood to call her ‘ma’am’ instead of by her actual name.

“Alright, Osgood. Let’s go see whatever this is that’s just arrived. If it is what I think it is, we shouldn’t have too much trouble with its owner.”

Right; because when had a Time Lord ever actually dropped in without bringing trouble with them? Granted, it wasn’t always their fault, but still. The universe was rarely lazy enough to resort to coincidence when there were so many connections from across time and space it could hurl right back in a Time Lord’s face.

Fortunately, it seemed this was to be one of those few times where nothing too important occurred; at least, it would seem that way til something inevitably cropped up in the season finale or something like it that referenced back to today’s events.

No sooner had she finished the thought than the revolving door she was currently passing through decided to perform its best impersonation of the Hoover Dam. Thus resulting in her running face-first into a rather hard glass wall.

She frowned as she rubbed her head. Did…did the fourth wall just _hit her back?_

Nope; she wouldn’t go down that road, not with only one grande espresso in her system. That way led madness and despair and the destruction of minds.

She steeled herself, gave the door an almighty shive, and just barely avoided tumbling face-first into the room beyond. A room that, despite its appearance of being an especially modern and cutting-edge laboratory, contained what had to be the biggest and oldest grandfather clock she had ever seen.

Oh, _very_ funny.

She marched right up to the glass and wooden door in front of her and, ignoring the swinging pendulum she could clearly see behind it, banged on it as hard as she could.

“RAIN MAIN, YOU GET OUT HERE RIGHT BLOODY NOW!”

Every speaker in the room came to life with a single, definitive, reply. _“Shan’t.”_

“RAIN MAN, I SWEAR TO…!”

_“You really shouldn’t swear, Director, its unbecoming for someone in your position. Goof morning all, I’m your new friendly neighborhood Time Lord. Please allow me to introduce myself; I’m a man of wealth and taste. No matter how much your lovely Director would like to claim otherwise. You’re all in luck this morning; I’ve decided to conduct a little experiment. Each and every person now assembled in this room is to be given a rare opportunity: a chance to view the interior of a TARDIS. Please don’t mistake that I’m doing this out of any attempt to win favors or influence; I’m merely seeking to confirm my hypothesis that below a certain level of IQ, the average human will promptly suffer horrific brain damage upon attempting to comprehend something they most definitely cannot. So roll up, roll up! Who gets to be today’s lucky first victim I mean visitor? And please, just one at a time. I doubt I can treat multiple hemorrhages at the same time; I’m no Doctor, after all.”_

Osgood was the only one who didn’t look utterly dumbfounded; then again, she was the only one that had actually ever taken a ride on the magic school bus. Well, aside from Kate herself.

She clapped her hands together for attention. “Right people; we’re going to do this calmly and orderly. Each of you will get your chance, I assure you. Now, there are some things I need to retrieve before this goes any further, so in the meantime, why don’t you work out the order among yourselves? Oh, and if you don’t have one by the time I get back, no one gets to see.”

 _That_ certainly lit a fire under their arses. She paused just long enough to give Osgood a final whispered recommendation. “Make sure Malcolm goes last; we don’t want him monopolizing the Rain Man’s time.”

“Understood, Kate.”

She sighed as she made her way once more down the sterilized halls of UNIT HQ. They _really_ needed to get a Starbucks in here, or _something._ For goodness sake, even in her Dad’s time they’d had a tea lady.

Was it to much to ask for a tall, iced, cappuccino on days like this one?

* * *

She returned to less chaos than she expected.

Then again, that may have had something to do with how the majority of her employees were now lounging around the room in various catatonic states. All except Osgood, in fact. And Malcolm, who was conspicuously absent.

“What happened?”

“He got tired of waiting, ma’am. We had a single file line running right up to the door; and when he ran out of patience he just…pulled the first one in line back in with him. And then pushed him back out not three minutes later, looking like…well, like that.”

Osgood gestured to some random gibbering heap draped across a table. That microscope couldn’t be comfortable, wedged like that. But apparently, the man had more important things on his mind.

As did most of his unfortunate colleagues.

“Is Malcolm in there right now?”

“Yes, ma’am. And I don’t anticipate him leaving anytime soon, unless you somehow manage to find a lever capable of moving the world itself.”

The clock door swung open.

“Aristotle, Miss Osgood? Good on you. Even if he was an idiot, he was still less of an idiot than his predecessors. Well? What are you waiting for? Come on, come on! Things to do, people to see! Although not necessarily that way round. Never mind; just come!”

The door slammed shut once again.

Osgood gave her best all-knowing smirk in Kate’s direction. “Oh, _he’s_ a keeper.”

“Tell me abou…NO! Not like that! Wipe that smug grin off your face this instant.”

Osgood kept right on smiling. “Like the man said, shan’t. After you, _lovely Director.”_

She was so going to kill that man. Even if it took her twelve lifetimes to do it.

As expected, the TARDIS hadn’t changed interiors since the last time she’d stepped foot in it. Still done up exactly like Sherlock Holmes’ flat, albeit with a good deal of modernization. And in reclining in the infamous chair, listening intently as Dr. Malcolm Taylor described something or other with his usual vigorous hand gestures.

“But if you reverse the polarity of the neutron flow twice over, that should technically confuse the polarity, rather than return it to its original state. If you were to instead…”

The Rain Man held up his hand. It spoke volumes that Malcolm instantly halted mid-sentence. A brilliant man, but he’d always had the tendency to ramble on, never mind anyone who attempted to get him to stop. For the Rain Man to have earned that level of respect from him in the space of mere minutes…was truly remarkable.

“Not that I’m not enjoying our little conversation, Doctor, but I believe there’s some urgent business I must attend to.”

Malcolm finally realized exactly who it was standing in the room with him. “Oh! Oh, of course, you must have loads to talk…about. Yes, I’ll just…be going then.”

“I look forward to our next tete-a-tete, Dr. Taylor. Expect me, but don’t look for me, on account of the materialization.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll do that. Oh! Oh, I’ll certainly do that sir!”

…Whoa. That might have been the first time she’d ever seen Malcolm salute _anyone._ Including her. Including the _Doctor._ She’d always known that Malcolm had never quite gotten over the Easter Incident; for him to have someone as intelligent as himself to converse with, for however brief a moment, must have been heaven to him. And to have the promise of future communication with the exact same quality sometime very soon? Paradise.

He would work into the small hours of next morning, new ideas racing through his mind, if she didn’t take care to make sure he actually went home at the end of the day. Just another item on her constantly expanding checklist.

Speaking of which…

“I shudder to think what you may or may not have done to my poor subordinates.”

“Now what gave you the idea I did anything at all?”

She just stared at him.

“…Fine! I ‘may or may not have’ allowed them to draw their own conclusions about both this room, its furnishings, and its owner. Also I may or may not have name-dropped the address of my current residence.”

She closed her eyes and pinched her nose. “And the fact you’re currently wearing an antique dressing gown and smoking a pipe had absolutely nothing to do with it, I’m sure. Admit it; there was no experiment. You just wanted an opportunity to mess with the heads of as many people as you could.”

“I assure you , Director, there was indeed an experiment. Just not the one I outlined. It was in fact nothing more than a test of human credulity and ability to extrapolate from incomplete data. In this case, whether or not it was possible for some previously unknown time traveler to have been the source of much of the myth surrounding Sherlock Holmes.”

“And are you?”

“Hardly. That honor belongs to one of the most intelligent Silurians I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Her, her wife, and a Sontaran in place of the redoubtable Dr. Watson. Ironic, considering I’m fairly certain Strax’s level of education didn’t extend much beyond military history and tactics. But I digress. Needless to say, my little experiment has yielded more than enough data for me to hypothesize with at some later date.”

“You! You! ….AUGH!”

“Hmm. Are these cessations of comprehensible communication a frequent occurrence with our dear Director, Miss Osgood?”

Osgood’s eyes were twinkling dangerously. “No sir, I don’t believe so. Only since you’ve arrived have they begun to happen with any degree of frequency. Oh, and nice use of alliteration just now.”

“Why thank you, Miss Osgood. I’m glad you noticed.”

Kate could only continue to splutter indignantly.

“You know, you could call me ‘Ella’.”

“Oh, but such familiarity on my part would indicate a severe lack of respect. And besides, Miss Osgood is such a _fun_ sounding name. But to show you that I appreciate the gesture, you are more than welcome to use the informal version of my own name is you so wish.”

Osgood’s nose scrunched in confusion. “What on Earth could the informal version of ‘The Rain Man’ be?”

“Thane. Mr. Ian Thane. Consulting Xenobiologist, 221B Baker Street. However you care to shorten it.”

“…Ian. I like it.”

“Thank you, so do I.”

Kate finally regained control of her vocal chords. “That’s because you chose it, you insufferable man!”

“Please, Director. As if I didn’t choose the other one as well. I trust you have my necessary papers?”

She shoved the massive pile of folders in Thane’s direction. “Here! All you need to identify _both_ your bloody names as employees of UNIT! And good riddance! I don’t know why you couldn’t just run them off yourself anyway; you’re certainly a good enough hacker.”

“But my dear Director, how then would I have gone about making connections with such lovely ladies as yourself and the excellent Miss Osgood here?”

Osgood went for her inhaler at that.

“OUT! NOW!”

“Need I remind you Director that this is _my_ TARDIS?”

“AUGH!”

She grabbed Osgood’s arm and yanked her towards the exit, glad for the chance to be the one slamming the door for once.

“…Oh yes, he’s _definitely_ a keeper.”

She could only watch as the Rain…as _Thane’s_ TARDIS dematerialized in front of her.

Still no wheezing brakes. But somehow, the ticking of the clock seemed to take its place, surrounding and reverberating throughout the entire room. An altogether suspenseful sound, like one lifted straight from a horror movie. Or an Agatha Christie.

“Hickory, dickory, dock; the mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck…”

ONE!

The clock struck one!

So _that’s_ why a mouse was when it spun!

One more mystery from her father’s files finally put to rest.

She’d call that a win.

Even if it had cost her the functionality of most of her colleagues for the foreseeable future.

“Come along, Osgood. I believe we have quite a lot to get done.”

“Uh, Kate?”

“What? What is…”

She realized what Osgood was pointing to.

In the space that the TARDIS had up until recently been occupying, there stood instead a table on wheels. And atop the table…the sleekest, shiniest, coffee-maker she had ever seen.

And stuck to it, a cream colored note.

_No matter how the wind howls, the mountain cannot bow to it. Be the mountain, Kate Stewart. – The Rain Man._

As much as she hated to agree with Osgood, it seemed he was, after all, a keeper.


	5. Look Out Kid, It's Something You Did

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

5) LOOK OUT KID, IT’S SOMETHING YOU DID

“Miss Smith.”

“Mr. Thane.”

“Won’t you come in, please?”

Sarah Jane gave a mock gasp. “A Time Lord capable of saying ‘please’? Is the world coming to an end?”

“Only every other day, Miss Smith. But really, do come in. I have quite a few projects in the works, and some of them require strict environmental conditions.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re letting all the warm air out.”

Kate did her best to stifle a snort.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“As I have repeatedly sated to our mutual friend the Director here, don’t be. Be better, instead. Now, at what time did you say the two children were due to arrive?”

“In about half-an-hour, traffic providing. I’m due to pick them up in fifteen minutes, actually. I figured it would be better if you and Miss Smith got the chance to become better acquainted before then; as you said Thane, best not to multi-task when the welfare of children is involved.”

“…I thank you for your consideration, Director. Swift journey.”

She nodded. “And good luck to you, too.”

As she turned from the closing door, she came face to face with what looked to be a _smirking_ Osgood. “Oh yeah, he’s _exactly_ like Sherlock.”

She frowned. “How so?”

“Seriously? How could you miss it? ‘I thank you for your consideration, Director’. The more his emotions confuse him, the more formal he gets.”

“…So what you’re saying is that he was what, surprised?”

“Partially. I just think it’s been awhile since anyone actually went out of their way to do something nice for him. And even longer since he knew how to reciprocate, if he ever actually did.”

“…Not just surprised, then.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘flabbergasted’, actually.”

“Hmmph. Does this mean I can expect another coffee cart sometime in the near future?”

“Oh, I think it’ll be a bit more extravagant than that.”

“Great. As if my office wasn’t low on space enough already.”

* * *

“Hello again Miss Smith. And Thane. What _is_ that horrid noise?”

Sarah Jane smiled. “A combination quantum signature analyzer and biological growth stimulator.”

“A _what?_ ”

Thane sighed. “A 3-D printer for surgeons, Director.”

“And what on Earth is it doing that requires _that_ level of racket?”

“Replicating an entire human mind, I’m afraid.”

“…Sorry, did you just tell me you’re 3-D printing a _brain?”_

Sarah Jane gave a small frown. “Well, yes. It’s not like we had enough time to print the whole body, after all.”

Thane nodded in agreement. “And it’s always best to keep things small in the testing phase.”

 _“Testing?”_ Impressive. She truly believed she’d hit a new octave there.

She’s known she was getting in deep with the decision to leave Sarah Jane with Thane; she just hadn’t expected for things to have gotten as deep as _this_ by the time she returned. Which was why it was unfortunate that the two main subjects of the day chose that moment to make their first appearance.

“WHOAH! You’re building a _body?”_

Thane smiled. “Ah, you must be the friends of Miss Oswald. And yes, yes we are. Eventually, anyway.”

The boy stared up in awe. “Cor! You’re like a real-life Frankenstein!”

“My dear boy, I’m a time-traveler. Is it so hard to believe that Frankenstein was just a fictional version of me?”

“Ian, I thought we said no bragging.”

“Of course, Miss Smith. As you wish.”

Kate didn’t know why, but for some reason, her heart decided to give a little half-twist in her chest at that exchange. She did her best to ignore it and focus on the conversation still going on around her.

The girl was speaking now. “So, if you’re a time-traveler, does that mean you’re like the Doctor?”

“I’ll have you know the majority of time-travelers are nothing like that absolute windbag. But yes, when it comes to myself, I’m afraid I must admit to a few similarities.”

“Are you two thousand years old like he is then?”

“Really? He’s managed to last to two thousand? Impressive. And no, I’m afraid I’m quite a bit younger. Only about seventeen hundred, at last count.”

The girl hmphed and crossed her arms. “Still old, though.”

“My dear, when you cross paths with actual immortals on a regular basis, seventeen hundred begins to feel like mere adolescence.”

Sarah Jane deliberately bumped him. “Which explains the fascination with body parts, I suppose? Come on, you two. I’ll bet the pair of you never thought you’d get to see the inside of _221B Baker Street,_ did you?”

The pair perked up at that. “Is that where we are? Really?”

Sarah Jane nodded. “Really, truly.”

“AWESOME! Wait til I tell the guys at school!”

“Oh, trust me. You’re gonna be able to do more than just _tell_ them.” She held out her hands to the two. “Shall we?”

They latched onto her arms like magnets and followed her deeper into the TARDIS, making various expressions of wonder the whole way.

“…You’re sad.”

“Sad? Of course not. Why would I be sad?”

“Don’t bother pretending. You miss them, don’t you. Your children.”

Lord, she hadn’t thought about her kids in ages. Last she remembered, one was in university up north, and the other…the other was still in America.

With her father.

“…How could you tell?”

“The eyes. Not just the windows to the soul, but also the doors. And besides…I read your file. It wasn’t too hard to put together.”

“…No, no I don’t suppose it would be.”

“…Coffee?”

“Dear lord, yes.”

* * *

“Be sure and visit again, Miss Smith.”

“Well of course! I’m not about to let you finish this project all on your own, now am I?”

“I certainly hope not. Give my regards to your son.”

“I will. And…when you find the Doctor, tell him…tell him…oh, he’ll know.”

“He usually does. Good day, Miss Smith. Little people whom I was very pleased to meet.”

The boy and girl both just nodded in response. Kate didn’t really blame them; it had to have been a hard day for the pair. “Off we go, then. Take care of yourself, Thane.”

“You as well, Director.”

It wasn’t until they’d dropped off Sarah Jane back at her house that either of the two actually said anything.

“She likes him.”

“Who?”

The girl just kept making patterns on the window. “Miss Smith. She likes Mr. Thane.”

There went that little half-twist again. “Perhaps. Perhaps she’s just lonely, and misses having someone around like the Doctor to talk to.”

“She was in love with him too, you know. Just like Clara was.”

“…I suspected.”

“Well now you know. And now that someone else like him is gonna be _staying_ here…”

The girl didn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t have to.

* * *

_Several Weeks Later…_

“Seriously? Genetically-engineered Brazilian spider-monkeys?”

Kate groaned. “No, Osgood. Not genetically-engineered, _or_ Brazilian. _Alien_ spider-monkeys that _just so happened_ to crash land in Brazil. Absolutely no genetic engineering involved. Well, except for that one kid with the shape-shifting watch that got himself stuck as one for several days when said watch broke. It was quite interesting to watch Thane work on that one, let me tell you.”

“And he just…fixed it? Without even having to look at it?”

“Of course he looked at it, Osgood; what do you think video phones are for?”

“Sorry. It’s just…he somehow managed to not only reverse-engineer an entire genome sequence in order to un-shapeshift someone back to the way they were, he also neutrally negotiated an entire _peace treaty_ over a _video phone,_ several _thousand miles away_ from all concerned parties, on a connection I have no doubt was absolutely atrocious. And he did it all in _forty-five minutes_.”

“By his count, he was actually a bit slow that day. Said he probably could’ve done it in forty-two if he’d been on form.”

“And that’s my point! Even on his best days, the Doctor…”

Kate surreptitiously bumped into Osgood’s shoulder, halting her mid-thought. “Probably best not to finish that sentence. We are trying to stay undercover, after all.”

“Yes, because walking around as humans in a Silurian-Zygon cultural exchange is the height of anonymity.”

“Well, for all I know, you could actually _be_ a Zygon. And I’ve noticed the actual number of base-form Zygons walking around is a good deal lower than the number of ones walking around in disguise. Don’t worry; we’ll be fine. What could possibly go wrong?”

It was Osgood’s turn to groan. “You just _had_ to jinx it, didn’t you? Murphy’s gonna have a field day.”

“Osgood, if there’s one life has taught me, it’s that Murphy was an optimist. Come along; there’s still a quite bit more to see.”

* * *

“…A bar, Kate? Seriously?”

Kate could only stare at the glowing neon sign announcing to all comers exactly what the establishment below it was. “…Believe me when I say this wasn’t here last time.”

“Suuuuuure. Well, come on. Might as well.”

“What do Silurians even _drink?_ They’re cold-blooded.”

“I guess we’ll just have to find…out.”

They both stared in horror at the scene, each trying desperately to rationalize what they were seeing.

No luck.

The entire patronage of the bar seemed to have congregated around one particular table, and their reason for doing so was quite evidently clear: it was a drinking contest. But not between Silurian and Zygon, oh no. There was no mistaking the fact that the two participants in the contest were anything less than full-human. And perhaps just a little bit more.

At one end, surrounded by a pile of empty glasses, sat quite possibly the last person Kate would have ever expected: the Mayor of Trap Street herself, the supposedly immortal Lady Me. And judging by the height of the pile around her, it seemed all those centuries of living had definitely taught her how to hold her liquor.

In fact, if it had been anyone else at the other end of the table, Kate would’ve bet money right then and there on her eventual victory.

But it wasn’t just anyone else; it was the one person that Kate knew would never, beyond the shadow of a doubt, _ever_ lose in a drinking contest.

The Director of Torchwood Three, and quite possibly the only person capable of giving Lady Me a run for her money in the immortality department, the infamous Captain Jack Harkness.

Who was now down to his last shot of…whatever the hell he was actually drinking.

He knocked it back with the same smirk he accompanied everything with, be it alcohol or adrenaline. The crowd went absolutely wild, all apparently cheering their champion on. Which was extremely unfortunate, as it took several seconds for them to realize their favorite drinker had just collapsed dead from alcohol poisoning.

Kate saw it coming a mile away; she’d seen that look on countless dead bodies, the ones that just barely had time to realize something was very wrong with their liver before it gave out entirely. By all rights the contest should have been over the minute Harkness passed out. But Kate knew perfectly well what Harkness was; and more importantly, what would happen if he were to come back to life right in the middle of the bets being paid out. What Kate saw was a giant pile of kindling, just waiting for a match.

What Lady Me saw, however, was an opportunity. And she took it. She slowly staggered to her feet, last glass in hand.

“A TOAST! Ta the grtest drnker I’ver sen. And thash includn Me!”

With that, she downed her own final shot…and promptly keeled over.

The silence was deafening.

Kate could see perfectly well why everyone was afraid to move: both of the contestants had, for all intents and purposes, tied. And the second someone was stupid enough to point that out, the bar would immediately descend into chaos as everyone began making their own opinions known about that particular conclusion. People, and that included aliens of all kinds, could get real ugly real quick when betting was involved. And that was before you took into account all the alcohol.

There was really only one thing she could do.

She turned ever so slightly and whispered to her colleague. “Osgood, I need you to, _very confidently,_ go and grab Harkness and pull him out of there.”

“ME? Why ME?”

“Because I’m the only one Me knows by sight, and if she wakes up while I’m carrying her it’ll be a lot better than if she did it while being carried by you. And the worst Harkness will do is try and grab something inappropriate if and when he…wakes up.”

“…Understood, ma’am.”

Kate sighed. Why did these things always seem to happen to her?

She stuck out her chin, squared her shoulders, and marched forwards.

Without so much as a word, she bent down, scooped the unconscious Mayor up in a fireman’s carry, and began strolling towards the exit.

“HEY!”

She stopped.

“They still gotta pay for the drinks!”

Doing her very best to make her voice sound like a glacier, she called back over her shoulder. “Charge it to the official UNIT account at the exchange. And don’t even _think_ about trying anything funny with the bill. Because believe me, I will know. And more importantly, so will _they._ Good day, gentlemen.”

She paused at the door just long enough to make sure Osgood got through alright (had to be the Zygon one, no way regular Osgood could manage Harkness’ weight with that little trouble). And then, just as the door was about to swing shut behind them, she made one final announcement to the still on-edge customers.

“The contest was a tie. Let the fight commence.”

Three chairs, two empty bottles, and a spear were all promptly raised.

And then obscured by a sheet of two inch thick steel plating.

“…Well that went well.”

A random Silurian came hurtling through the window with an thundering crash.

“Osgood, I think it’s safe to say you and I have very different definitions of that word.”

It was that moment that Harkness chose to make his return to the land of the living known with an almighty gasp.

“PLEASE NOT THE HANDCUFFS! …I’m sorry, did I miss something?”

“Quite a lot I’m afraid, Captain.”

“I’m sorry, have we met?”

“No, no we have not. And I was quite fine with that arrangement. But it seems Fate had other plans for today. Anywhere we can drop you off?”

“Well, you see, here’s the thing…”

He never finished the sentence.

Passing out does tend to kill whatever conversation you were in the middle of like that.

“…Kate, you know there’s really only one place we can take them. UNIT absolutely cannot get their hands on either one, and I shudder to think what Torchwood will do to Me once they find out about the memory wipes.”

“I know, Osgood. I know. Let’s just hope he’s in.”

“Yes, because it’s not like he hasn’t moved from the place in weeks.”

“No need to sarcastic. And you’re the one who said Murphy was going to have a field day, I believe. It would be just our luck for him to be out today.”

“Kate, you have really got to learn to stop saying things like that.”


	6. Better Duck Down The Alleyway, Looking For A New Friend

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

6) BETTER DUCK DOWN THE ALLEYWAY, LOOKING FOR A NEW FRIEND

“I do hope you appreciate the fact I made sure all the traffic lights were switched to blue for your convenience.”

Osgood grunted as she dragged Harkness into the flat. “That was you? I just thought we finally got lucky for once.”

Thane bent down to help with the Captain’s legs. “Luck is by far one of the worst explanations in the galaxy for _anything._ The universe is rarely so lazy. No, it was elementary to track your progress through London using the many, many cameras scattered throughout the city, and then to hijack a neat little network the Great Intelligence left behind to speed you on your way.”

Kate frowned as she staggered along behind, still carrying Me over her shoulder. “I thought UNIT dismantled that particular network.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. The Great Intelligence has grown beyond a mere consciousness now; any attempt to remove It entirely would be akin to holding back the Red Sea with a broom. It’s already discovered time travel; and the only reason it has so far failed in It’s ultimate goal is that It is constantly being besieged and bedeviled by the many, many copies of Miss Oswald still drifting around the universe. On the one side; Yog-Sothoth, The Great Intelligence, the very picture of cold, sterile uniformity. And on the other, Nyarlahotep, the Crawling Chaos, It’s perfect antithesis. Ironic that out of the two I was able to convince ‘Mr. Smith’ to side with the one that goes against everything a computer is supposed to stand for.”

“Thane, I understood about maybe half of those words, and that was enough to convince me I have absolutely no desire to understand the other.”

“Understandable. You are human, after all. Come along; this way to the med bay. Well, the only one in any semblance of usable condition.”

Up stairs, down corridors, round the bend, past the bins… “OW! Osgood! Why’ve you…”

She was going to say, ‘stopped’, but one look at where Thane had led them answered her question before she ever finished asking it. And also raised a few more.

“Kate. _Kate._ ”

“Yes, I _see it,_ Osgood.”

“We’re in a _Starfleet medical bay._ A _real-life, honest-to-goodness, Starfleet…”_

“Inhaler!”

_FWOOSH!_

Thane barely seemed to notice his partner-in-carrying had dropped the other end of their cargo. “Sorry about the mess, ladies. Had to rip out a few things for some completely unrelated projects, but I think there’s still…HA HAH! Got one!”

He hoisted Harkness up onto the cot, and proceeded to strap down his left arm.

“What are you doing that for?”

“Multiple reasons. For one, he needs fluids. And if I were to use a more orthodox approach, I suspect he would rip the wires right out and be on his merry way. For another, I really don’t want him poking around in here more than necessary. I’ve seen one too many immortals in my time unleash something along the lines of an ultimate plague entirely by accident, just because they didn’t care what the consequences of their actions were anymore. And anyone willing to drink themselves to the point of death can’t really be all that far from the edge.”

“That’s fair.”

“Besides, from his point of view he just passed out in the twenty-first century on Earth. If he wakes up in a Starfleet medical bay, it _just might_ cause a few processing issues in his brain.”

Kate sighed as Thane took Me and laid her down on the cot next to the Captain’s. “A few? _I’m_ still having trouble processing it, and I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Um, excuse me,” interjected Osgood, “but just where the _hell_ did you get one of these anyway? And what’s it doing on board your TARDIS?”

“Please. You should know perfectly well the human race’s weakness for nostalgia; did you really no one was ever going to sit down and build a working replica of the _Enterprise?_ I’ve got the original _Millennium Falcon_ sitting around somewhere; the Well of Souls, the entire library of the Miskatonic University, an Infinite Improbability Drive, and the Hogwarts Sorting Hat.”

“…I thought you said you _hated_ Earth.”

“I believe the terms used revolved more around how neither of us held much love for the other. As a scientist, I can certainly appreciate the drive all things of Earth have for change and advancement. Millions upon millions of species, all adapting as fast as possible just to gain the smallest of advantages over their competitors. But that respect is somewhat dampened by the fact that every single one of those species seems to regard my discomfort as the greatest goal in existence. Each and every single one of those artifacts I just listed has a story behind it that consists of the absolute worst manner of events you could ever possibly imagine. Just the Miskatonic library alone cost me a regeneration when some mad man had the brilliant idea of time-jacking it for the sake of just one of the volume’s contents.”

“I don’t suppose the volume in question would just so happen to be the _Necronomicon,_ would it?”

He should play poker with that face. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Well that’s just great. For all we know, there’s a sentient evil book somewhere on this ship that would like nothing more than to rip open our minds.” She sighed. Then frowned. “Hang on; if you haven’t been to Earth since the sixteen hundreds, how did you manage to acquire any of the rest of it?”

“Like I said, nostalgia. You wouldn’t believe what you run across when searching for a mustard-dispenser valve in the Great Bazaar of Kantoom. Oh, all except for the _Falcon._ That I stole form the Doctor.”

“… _Why?”_

“Because he was using it as a home for an almost extinct species of flightless bird. Honestly, when that man gets lonely, it’s almost sad how desperate he gets for company. So, in order to save a priceless ancient artifact, I nicked the ship and deposited the birds on a planet where they’d be much better off. Which also had the fortunate side-effect of driving him back into society looking for a new companion, so I’ll call that a win.”

Whoa. Massive information dump, all in the span of mere minutes. Which probably meant… “Osgood, _inhaler.”_

_FWOOSH!_

Thane’s eyes flickered from her to Osgood, and then back again in realization. “Oops. Sorry about that. Oh, and don’t worry about the book. Even if I did have it, which I am still very much not admitting, it would probably be locked away nice and tight somewhere no one can get to it. Not even me, as tempting as it sometimes is. Would be. You get the picture.”

“Yeah, we get the picture. Come on, Osgood. Best leave him to his work; I, for one, don’t particularly care for the idea of being present when Me eventually wakes up.”

“…”

“Oh, no you don’t. No saying hello to the Captain, either.”

Osgood just smirked. “If you say so, ma’am.”

Cheeky woman.

“Don’t worry about a thing.” Came Thane’s voice behind her. “I’ll have them both operating at peak efficiency at no time at all. Oh, this is going to be _fun._ Two immortals in the same room, and all the time in the world. You know, if I were an evil genius, I’d probably be laughing maniacally right about now.”

“Evil genius? No. Mad scientist? Definitely. I say go for it.”

“Osgood, don’t…”

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“…encourage him.” She sighed again. “Something tells me I’m going to need more coffee.”

* * *

“So…genetically-engineered spider-monkeys?”

Thane just chuckled. “Not genetically-engineered, actually. Just alien. Well, except for that one fellow who got stuck and couldn’t change back. Rather ticklish business, but not altogether that difficult.”

Osgood perked up from her spot on the couch. “That’s exactly what _she_ said! Almost word for word!”

“Really? Hmm. Someone’s actually been reading the reports I’ve been sending in, then. Good to know.”

Of course she’d been reading them! It had been _ages_ since UNIT had actually worked with a Time Lord, and she’d long since reread all the relevant files three times over. Why wouldn’t she be eager to get her hands on new material?

Apparently, Thane recognized the look on her face for what it was, judging by how high his eyebrow was raised. “Anything more of your colleagues I should edit my reports to suit?”

She shook her head to clear it. “Mostly just Malcolm. And he’s been involved in most of them anyway, so feel free to keep sending them in as is. Although I must ask you to cut down on the amount of non-UNIT cases you call him in for. That business in Massachusetts could have gone very bad very quickly.”

“Which was why I also took the liberty of asking for the assistance of both Miss Smith and those wonderful companions of hers. I must say, it was a genuine pleasure to meet one of the infamous K-9 units. Even if he did set my trousers on fire.”

Osgood twisted to face him. “What’s this about burning trousers?”

Thane replied at exactly the same time she did: _“You don’t want to know.”_

Osgood blinked. “…Okay, that was just weird. And that’s coming from me.”

“Trust me, Miss Osgood,” Thane said as he leaned back in his chair, “the story behind it is far weirder. In fact, if Miss Smith hadn’t been there, it is entirely possible things would have gotten rapidly out of hand. I really must remember to send her something nice as token of my appreciation…”

 _Why_ was Osgood just _looking_ at her? Was there something on her blouse? A coffee stain?

“No, Director. No stains. Just watching for a reaction.”

She just stared at him. “…How the _bloody hell_ could you tell what I was thinking?”

“You know, the famous Mr. Holmes preferred the science of deduction. I, however, prefer its counterpart, the method of _in-_ duction. Suffice to say that it was quite easy to logically infer your train of thought from both your actions and reactions. It is not something I make a habit of, as there are far better and more productive forms of distraction at my disposal, but I still make it a point to practice regularly. I would explain in more detail, but I believe the good Captain Harkness should be making his appearance right about…now.”

Dammit, caught while attempting to listen in on a conversation or not, the man still managed to pull off the smirk. “How’d you know I was coming?”

“Well, I could say that I calculated the exact amount of time it would take for you to break your way out of the medical bay, and then the required number of steps for you to reach this particular location. Or, I could say that your mere proximity is in itself ample warning enough, considering how Time seems to twist back on itself around you. But in reality, all I did was set a motion-alarm at the door.”

Osgood frowned. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“A frequency only I can hear, I’m afraid my dear. Please, Captain; won’t you sit down? I expect you have many questions.”

“Yeah, for one, how the hell did I pass out in a bar back on Earth and wake up in deep space on board the USS Enterprise? And why does the bridge look like a flat in Westminster?”

“Because it _is_ a flat in Westminster, my dear Captain. Or, at least, that is where we are currently parked. Welcome aboard my TARDIS, Captain. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Harkness’ face immediately slammed down into ‘threat assessment mode’. “TARDIS? You’re a Time Lord?”

“I would have thought that would be obvious Captain, considering my previous remarks about your presence in Time. You may relax; I am not the Master.”

“Yeah? And how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Because the lovely lady sitting directly across from me is the Director of UNIT, and the young miss reclining on the couch is her Chief Scientific Officer. Do either of them truly seem threatened by my presence?”

Harkness snorted. “If you know about the Master, please forgive me if I point out you could be using mind control the same way he did. That is if you aren’t actually him in the first place.”

“Believe me when I say that out of the three of us, the Doctor, the Master, and myself, the Master was always the best at hypnosis; even in school. I have no hope of replicating the level of success he consistently achieves in that department. And as you should well know if you are in any way keeping up with current events, the Master is, in fact, currently the _Mistress._ I trust in your ability to recognize a female of any species, Captain.”

“Hmmph. That famous, am I?”

Osgood snorted. “More like _in-_ famous.”

“Oh? Is that so, Miss…?”

“Osgood.”

Thane held up his hand. “Before you start in, I should warn you that there’s a fifty percent chance she’s a Zygon.”

It was Kate’s turn to scoff. “Like that’ll stop him. To him, two Osgoods probably just means twice the opportunity.”

“I’ll have you know, oh Madame Director, that I’ve always preferred _consolidation_ to _diversification.”_

She groaned. “Oh, that was a mental image I _so_ did not need.”

“Glad to be of _service.”_

“Harkness, if you don’t stop, I can and will have you pecked to death by ravens.”

“Ah. I’ve heard about them; always figured you lot made ‘em up as a scary story.”

“Scary? Yes. Story? Only if you want nightmares.”

“…Yep, that clenches it. You’re _definitely_ your father’s daughter, Director.”

 _That_ knocked her for a loop. “…You knew my father?”

“Director, I been around since the eighteen hundreds. We were bound to run into each other eventually.”

“He never mentioned you.”

“He couldn’t. I was too far ahead in the Doctor’s timestream; he couldn’t resist the man digging around any files and finding something worth investigating. Namely, how you’ve managed to live this long.”

Much as she hated to admit it, he was right. “That would have been awkward.”

“Quite. So, you know who I am. And I know why you are. All except the Time Lord in the room, whom I would like to point out has so far failed to introduce himself.”

“A thousand apologies, Captain. My name is the Rain Man, but the pseudonym I am currently residing under is that of Mr. Ian Thane, Consulting Xenobiologist and Scientific Advisor for UNIT.”

Harkness smirked. “Consulting Xenobiologist? Trying a bit too hard to sound like Sherlock Holmes, are we?”

“Funny you should mention that. Not only am I currently the only Consulting Xenobiologist in the world, I also just so happen to reside at a particular address famous for its residents being involved in the ‘Consulting’ occupation.”

Harkness’ eyes bugged out. “You mean…”

“You yourself suggested this room resembled a flat in Westminster. And I’m fairly certain that 221B Baker Street just so happens to exist in that precise municipality.”

… _THUNK!_

Osgood sighed. “I’m not moving him again.”


End file.
